Don’t worry…

Don’t worry.I’m not dead yet.I have been cutting.A lot.And I told my parents that I think I have depression.They yelled at me for being a liar and not knowing what I was talking about.I still haven’t shown them the cuts and I don’t think I ever will.I’m trying to be mad at David but Maylen’s right; I’m too nice.I can’t be mad at him.I can’t really be mad at anyone.I only hate one person, ME.I try not to cut but the blade is too tempting.I like the pain.It makes me realize that I do still have some feelings of worth…But at the same time, I don’t have any feelings that matter to others.

Sometimes I think that the worst thing to say to someone like me is,”I understand how you feel.”.Every depression is different.Every bit of pain is worse than the others.You should never say that you understand someone’s pain.No pain is the same.Take for example a relative dying.You don’t know the relationship that person had with the dead person.You don’t know how much they loved each other.You don’t know anything about that person.

Sometimes I think that I don’t have depression.Because I don’t know where the sadness or the loneliness, emptiness or disgust with myself comes from.I don’t think I even have a future in the world.I could be someone important and loved to the world, but I will never learn to love myself, nor will I ever respect myself.I don’t see how anyone could love me.I’m not pretty or popular.I’m not skinny, even though others say I am.I feel fat in this body.But I don’t see how I’m loved by my parents.They probably hate me, I take pills for suicide and for my headaches, and stomach.That pain is intense.

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